


Clandestine Kisses

by WhatWentWrongWithWalter



Series: Clandestine Kisses [1]
Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: Gen, Lord of the Flies (novel), M/M, Multi, Post-Lord of the Flies, lotf, lotf au, lotf ships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-02-06 20:25:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1871271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatWentWrongWithWalter/pseuds/WhatWentWrongWithWalter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ships. So many ships out in the horizon. <br/>Just boys, all caught up in the fever of young love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> _Clandestine Kisses_ is a series that features multi-ships from the fandom of _Lord of the Flies._ (I used the term fandom instead of novel, because even if they're the same ground, they're quite different.) 
> 
> Each story/ chapter is a stand-alone one-shot of a certain pairing/ OT3. One chapter, one ship. If you do not like a certain ship, then simply skip it. 
> 
> Since the title has the word kiss/es in it, then do expect something related to that. However, this series will not contain any smut. Stories may imply smut, but I will not delve on the details. (I am still contemplating about creating a smut series.) 
> 
> I feel the need to admit that I may not ship some of the couples I'll be writing about, but rest assured that I will still write my best and not give in to favouritisms over my own otps. After all, I am writing for fun's sake, for the lotf shippers, and for the appreciation of under-appreciated characters and pairings. I hope I'll do well. So help me God.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ralph is a light sleeper. Piggy is quite the snorer. How unfortunate.  
> (Type of kiss: Kiss on top of the head)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, this series has to start with something canon. You cannot tell me this isn't canon. It's even set on the island. It's fricken canon, I will fight you. 
> 
> Purely bromance, because I feel that Piggy's asexual so yeah, that's why he loves his glasses and the conch. I really wanted to try something humourous and light, but yeah, I'm awful. And I cannot be funny, I'm so sorry.

**Nightmares  
** (Lord of the Flies: Ralph x Piggy x Conch- Island plot)

Piggy's snores were hard to ignore for such a light sleeper, like Ralph. The blond tossed and turned on a flimsy leaf for a mattress over the cold sand. He plugged his ears with his hands, but that didn't help. He went out of the huts, but the bitter-cold slapped him too hard, he stomped back inside the shelter. So he lay frustrated and tired, glaring at the snoring fat boy beside him.

"No... I don't want any..."

Ralph heard him talk in his sleep. At least he didn't scream or cry in his sleep (unlike a lot of the littluns). Still, he was awfully grumpy with the voice of fatigue roughly cradling him and rocking him to sleep.

"Said I don't want!" Piggy's voice was a little louder this time, causing Ralph to slip away from an almost sweet slumber. He sat up, looked over the rather horizontally-enhanced boy by his side; he was sweating, wheezing shallowly. Beneath the dull blue morning light, Ralph could see that his friend's face was crinkled in pain.

"No!" he yelled. Miraculously, the littluns in their hut were fast asleep. 

Ralph scuttled to Piggy's side. The fat kid still had the cream-coloured conch, well-wrapped in between his flabby arms; the specs, he clutched with one hand. Piggy started to toss around, more sweat trickled down his his face. He was having a nightmare, so Ralph could tell, but he was also in a nightmare-- it was a nightmare to be the only light sleeper in the island!

The snoring kid's voice turned into incoherent mumbles. Out of frustration and angry impulse, Ralph shoved the conch up his mouth. To his surprise, that stopped the mumbling.

"Good boy," he muttered to the wind, then left a kiss on top of those short bristly brown locks. Needless to say that he regretted it afterwards because his hair smelt quite foul.

Now, with the fat boy finally soundless in slumber, Ralph crash down beside him and curled up. Morning started to light up and seep through the surroundings, but he didn't care. His heavy eyes shut and--

Strange noises made his eyes flutter. The moment he opened them, they grew wide with shock. Piggy was smooching with the conch! The smacking noises of his lips now resounded all over the hut. Ralph quietly turned around, shuddered at the sight of his friend making out with an inanimate object.

When the kissing noises died, the sun poked up from the horizon, and Ralph finally fell into a pit of deep sleep.

Or so he thought.

"Ralph!"

His shoulder was violently shaken.

"Wake up, Ralph! Oh, Ralph! I had a bad dream!"

Dizziness struck him when he forced his eyes to open. His vision came into focus and Piggy hovered above him, glasses now on his face, and the conch, still locked in his chubby arms. "I had a nightmare, Ralph." he repeated.

"That's great..." Then the blond boy shut his eyes.

"You were in it!"

"Piggy, honestly, you're my friend. But I'm dead tired. Can't you tell me this later?" he spoke with eyes closed. Yet Piggy didn't leave him. Not yet. He sat beside his blond friend and then whispered, "I... I didn't want to... to kiss you, but... you coerced me, that's why. That's my nightmare."

"Of all--" Ralph yawned, "--the scary stories in the world... And you're telling me this now?" He paused, then added, "So what if I did kiss you? You should consider yourself lucky. I'm handsome."

"Oh, Ralph!" 

But Ralph never retorted anything back. 

Once a snore slipped from his lips, Piggy took this as a cue to leave. But not without bending over and kissing his fair hair. "I don't care if you're handsome. You shouldn't take my breath away, on account of my asthma." he whispered, and after that, left the huts.


	2. Vandalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger believes he is alone in a world where he has no choice but to walk the path made for him. It takes a stranger to opens his eyes and gives him a voice to break free from the chains of pressure. 
> 
> (A feel-good fic. Because I can.)  
> (Type of kiss: kiss on the forehead)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated most especially for Chrish, a radical and amazing broster of mine. For all the trust and the stories, I made this for you, to assuage whatever plight you've got. Things will be better, I swear. 
> 
> I'd also like to include Rayin, who once roleplay as Eric back in 2013, alongside her twin sis (who obviously roleplays as Sam.) Fallen out of the island, yet still ships Rogice, I hope you enjoy this. 
> 
> Last, (and never the least), the perfectest fangirl and most adora **bill** human, Elle, who is the most wonderful person I've ever met. AYY.

**Vandalism  
** (Lord of the Flies: Roger x Maurice- college au)

Beneath the staircase on the first floor, we find a body of an Engineering Major-- don't worry, he's still alive! And he is shamelessly sleeping on the ground. No one else knows about the boy underneath the stairs; no one even knows the fact that he doesn't belong there. You see, we are in the College of Music: a three-story high building, wrapped with pale green walls, covered in white tiles, surrounded by soundproof rooms; and corridors held ghosts of lingering symphonies.

Said sleeping boy is aware of all this, and that is why he keeps going back in here, in this place he dubbed as 'his gloomy corner.' He doesn't like it in his own college, where sounds are dissonances and there are no empty corners. The boy is always noticed in the Engineering building--not just for his signature black hoodie, but also for being the offspring of two notorious Engineers. This boy hates to be the only heir to the family business line; they expect greatness from him, and the pressure is too much, it kills him inside. Sadly, for now, he can do nothing but hide, until the day he claims the title as Head of the Business.

His name is Roger, and now he stirs awake at the sound of his cellphone ringing, an alarm notifying that he has at least 20 minutes before his next class. After dismissing the alarm, he stretches a bit, and yawns loudly. He drags his feet as he moves out of the space in between the floor and the stairs. 

When he emerges out from beneath the stairs, a passing Music Major jolts in surprise at the sight of him. He nearly screams uncharacteristically as eight loud crashes and hits the tiles. Eight gongs roll out, ungracefully, with a deafening clamour. 

"I'm sorry!" they both say, then start to pick up the fallen objects. The instrument looks peculiar, yet fascinating. Roger hands back some gongs, then asks, "What are these things?"

"This is called a _kulintang_ , an instrument from the Philippines." The other boy kneels down on the immaculate tiles and starts to put the gongs on a horizontal wooden stand. He arranges the gongs, from biggest to smallest, on the surface of the stand. All eight gongs fit perfectly on the little table.

"How do you play it?" Roger curiously asks, still not understanding the instrument, although it sort of resembles like a xylophone. 

"Like this..." The boy pulls out short sticks from his pants pocket. Then, he begins to strike the centerpiece of the gongs; hitting it like drums and the gongs breathe out a rhythmic pattern. He creates a tribal melody that resounds all over the corridors.

"Cool!" Roger exclaims. "It's like a xylophone--but gongs! Xylo-gongs!"

The other boy chuckles at him, his smile looks ridiculously wide for his face. He puts back his beaters in his pants pocket. He stands, heaves up the _kulintang_ set, carrying it by the bottom. "Well, I better get going," he smiles wide again. "See you around?"

"Alright, see you." Roger waves, tries to attempt a smile. "I... I'm Roger, by the way." He holds out his hand to him, trying to look as friendly as possible

"Maurice," the kulintang kid replies with a charming grin. 

"So, see you, Maurice."

"Right! See you, Roger!"

* * *

_'I could hide forever til I die.'_

We see these words being illegally written down on an innocent face of a wall. He thinks that no one will see his act of vandalism. Truth is, there are four pairs of eyes watching him at present, but he has no clue. He denies that we exist.

October brings him the worst of luck. Barely passing grades, pressure-inducing parents, nearly empty fridges, a dead pet hamster, a broken string from his guitar, and classmates who tease him about his low ranking in class. They say he'll never pass the boarding exam, that he'll need to try harder, that he must study well. His professors advise that he ought to review his notes during the weekends, not play the Xbox.  His parents, who are unaware of his failures, keeps on saying pressuring things about the company, restating the fact that Roger is the only heir, that he must do well, that the life of the family depends on him. The whole worlds places a burden on his frail shoulder, and he doesn't scream in pain. Never.

Because he cannot scream nor cry the pain away. It remains locked in him. Along with that tender side of him that one one knows about. He secretly finds time to play the piano and take YouTube tutorials when his parents aren't around. No one even knows that he can pluck and strum adroitly, which he can no longer do since the day the fifth string snapped. He sings when he is alone. Music slowly weaves his soul, and it is ironic that that Maurice stranger, whom he never saw again, seems to have planted this seed in his cold soul. But the growing musical talent is locked up, together with the pain of the present plight.

After scribbling on the wall, he leaves his gloomy corner, walks back to the Engineering building for his last class. After this, he directly goes home. The sounds of his parents arguing about contracts welcome him home. They ask him about his professors, his grades, his tests, and how excited he is to become the Head of the Business. He tells them blatant lies with a fake smile. And as his parents talk on their phones over the dinner table, he eats alone... then finishes his homework alone... sleeps restlessly alone. Yet that's what he thinks, because we definitely know his thoughts, in and out of the gloomy corner.

Tomorrow will be the day he'll realise something: that he is wrong.

When he goes back to his spot under the stairs, he opens his book about Advanced Calculus and begins reviewing. Occasionally, he looks up at the sound of some students on the stairs. By now, he knows the different tunes of the string family instruments. 

Then his eyes caught something new. Something new greets him on the opposite wall. There are four arrows drawn in blue ink, sprouting around his musings from yesterday. By the tip of the arrowheads, these messages were written:  _'Never be afraid,' 'Keep it together,' 'Don't give up now,' 'You're irreplaceable.'_

A blush creeps on his face. He stares, flustered and bewildered, but most of all, shocked. Someone has been in this corner, too? Quickly, he fishes the red marker from his bag, then scribbles in reply: _'You have no idea.'_

But tomorrow, we find Roger's eyes light up in amazement when he discovers a new message from the blue-inked writer.

_'Trust me, it'll get better. Promise!'_

He finds himself writing back again.  _'Promises are meant to be broken.'_

* * *

Slowly, Roger's gloomy corner has turned into a private place where he and the mystery writer unfold a life-changing conversation. Vandal after vandal, they've developed an obvious attachment, perhaps even a sort of affection, towards each other. He finds himself always waiting on Blue's reply, always excited to see that cursive handwriting embrace him with words of warm comfort and sincere encouragement.  

And because of Blue's confidence in him, he finds himself performing better in his academics. By the next month, everyone-- his professors, classmates, parents, but most of all, _himself_ \-- is surprised by his performance. He has redeemed himself.

The wall slowly shifts into a private graffiti. A month passes, nearly the whole corner is covered with their words. Their handwriting shrinks a bit, trying to conserve space. Towards the end of the semester, only a small patch on the bottom corner of the wall is left clean.

 _'This semester is nearly finished. And you've been doing so great, Red! Told you, you can do it!'_ The latest message from Blue that greets him on the second to the last day of the semester.

 _'The first sem is nearly finished, so is this wall. Yet we still call each other Red and Blue. Blue, I have a request. Can I see you before the end of the sem? In short, tomorrow, because tomorrow's the last day of the sem. Say no to this and I will kill you, I have a gun! Oh, look at that, I just used up this whole space! Therefore your answer should be a yes. Thanks for everything. You're the best. Love, Red.'_ Roger then proceeds to draw a small gun on the tiny space he purposefully left blank.

The entire wall is now their conversational masterpiece. But in Roger's eyes, it is more special than that, for this is like a boatman that has ferried him to new shores. Blue is his new-found strength and he is excited to see his friend tomorrow.

But when tomorrow comes, he stands under the stairs, eyes wide with shock. Disbelief washes over him. Loss and confusion course through his veins. Speechless and dumbfounded, he stares at the wall that bears the worst picture ever.

Nothing.

Nothing is on the wall. Just a sheet of green paint, still wet when he came closer to touch it. The traces of their letters are swiped clean. Their masterpiece, gone in a curtain of pale green coating.

Roger slowly falls on his knees, collapses on the tiles. Yet he still doesn't have the will to scream, the will to cry. Closing his eyes, he tries to remember all those kind words that have been displayed over the past months. But his heart aches in terrible loneliness, bubbling with mixed emotions of anger, confusion, shame and most of all, indescribable pain. We watch him at the peak of his emotional breakdown.

A hand reaches for his shoulders. He jolts in surprise at the warmth radiating from the touch. Roger turns around and comes face to face with that kulintang kid from a few months ago. 

"Hey, R...Roger." the Music Major smiles, and holds out both of his hands. Roger takes them and pulls himself up. He sniffles and runs his hand through his dark hair, trying to look calm. "Looking for something?"

"It's nothing."

"D-do... do you need a hug?" Maurice asks, out of the blue. His kind eyes smile warmly at him and he finds himself nodding his head. Maurice, a taller and bigger guy than he was, pulls him in a rather tight, but comforting embrace. Roger buries his head between Maurice's neck and shoulder. His stiff arms awkwardly wrap around the tall lad's waist. "You can cry. You can scream. You can let it out. I won't judge, Red." the Music Major whispers, caressing the locks at the back of Roger's head with one hand, and the other, giving him an encouraging pat.

With that, Roger shuts his eyes and unleashes the things locked up for so years. Silent tears roll out, weeping for all the pressure, all the hurt, all the pain that swelled up and corrupted his core. He opens him mouth to rip out a quiet scream.  _Fuck it_ , he mouthed.  _Fuck this shit, fuck my life, fuck the world. Why? Why me? Fuck!_ Then his eyes fluttered wide open in a sudden epiphany.

"You know," Roger chokes out the words. "I'm going to shift to Music. I don't want to be an Engineer. I can handle it, but... I want to handle something else."

"What? But what about your parents?"

"Caught you, Blue." 

Roger continues to grin as Maurice's puzzled face slowly morphs into an understanding face. Then that charming smile dances on his lips again. Maurice pulls back Roger's bangs, then plants a kiss on his forehead. "You are amazing, Red. Always." he whispers.

Roger freezes at the touch of his lips on his forehead. But another strong emotion tugs his heart and he cups Maurice's face, then pulls him closer, kissing him full on the lips. Without a sound, they submerge in a glorious non-stressing moment. The taste is too good to forget.

Later that night, Roger comes home to the sound of his parents, still bickering. He clears his throat and makes his announcement.

"Mum, Dad... can I shift... to Music?" He carefully drops these words.

His parents look at each other, the other looking cross, the other looking confused. But years later, Roger will win, and he will get to see Maurice more often. But that is in the future, not the present, and this is how we end the story of the vandals.

My name is Shame. My narration partners: Anger, Confusion, and Pain. And we have been living in Roger's heart for a very long time. But now, Roger no longer needs us. Yet we have not met the end. We simply have evolved and blossomed together into love. Thank you, Maurice.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used Iggy's headcanons for Maurice, she's tumblr user mauricism. And one of the headcanons state that he's multi-racial (French/ British/ Filipino/ Spanish baby.) Thus, is the reason I brought up the _kulintang_ in this fic.
> 
> The _kulintang_ is an indigenous instrument hailing from the south of the Philippines. It's a horizontal row of 8 gongs (from biggest to smallest) and played with light beaters/ sticks. You can search it up if you want to see what it looks like or what it sounds like. ~~All I know is that I want a set in my own home and play it. I like percussion instruments. A LOT.~~
> 
> Next chapter: every shipper's favourite ship. You know what it is, because it's so canon, you can't deny it.


	3. Priceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, this place isn't home. It's just a substitute, but it can never be home.  
> Second, it wouldn't be home if it weren't for you.
> 
> (Type of kiss: kiss on the hand)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD EXPERIENCED THE WORST WRITER'S BLOCK EVER IN WRITING THIS FIC SO PLEASE BE GENTLE.
> 
> Oh, look! A jalph chapter! Finally! 
> 
> An original idea by Tumblr user c-sharp-dick. (I asked permission first!) And, besides Kayla's idea, I used My Chemical Romance's song, "Burn Bright" (album: Conventional Weapons) as some kind of inspiration, because that's one hell of a Jalph-ish song. And I love MCR, haha.

**Priceless** **  
**(Lord of the Flies: Jack x Ralph- graduation au)

Finally, city lights. Like war never touched this place, never laid a finger, never wrecked lives. Like war didn't exist.

The boys had their faces pressed against the plane's windows. Excited chatters. Beaming smiles. Eyes devouring the view: huge buildings, skyscrapers, brightly lit roads, cars and humans as tiny as ants, and midnight's black gown, adorned with sparkling stars by the edges.

"Wizard..."

"We're here!"

"Finally!"

"Amazing!"

"Safe Haven..."

That was how the leader of the choirboys put it. _Safe Haven._  It was what they called this place they were being relocated to. A littlun overheard it. Then it spread out like wildfire in less than an hour. Soon, everyone on the plane called it that way for the rest of the trip. Yet there was this horizontally-enhanced bespectacled kid who kept on correcting them. Eventually, he was roughly put out with, "Shut up, fatty!"

"B-boys! P-please! Please!" That was the Flight Attendant, slightly hysterical, slightly harassed. It seemed like she wasn't used to the company of rowdy little boys. "Settle down! Please! Children? Kids... Boys... Lads? Guys! Men!" 

Silence. Heads turned towards her at the last word. Expectant eyes looked up.

"We will be landing shortly. Please go back to your respective seats--no, Robert, you can't sit on Bill, please."

Once the boys scrambled back to their places, she left the cabin, flipping her vibrant blonde locks in such panache.

"Jesus, she knew my name," Robert whispered as he sat in between Bill and Maurice. "Stalker..."

"Idiot, you're still wearing your name tag!" Maurice said, pointing at the laminated tag pinned to the brunette's shirt.

"Then explain how she knew mine's?" Bill glanced sideways to him.

"Please..." Robert slurred before Maurice could even open his mouth. "You're recognisable with shades. And you're the only one wearing them in here."

"Are you saying everyone with shades is a Bill?"

"No, but every asshole wearing one is."

"Altos!" Jack Merridew turned around to face them. He placed a finger to his lips and the three tried to zip their mouths shut. Muffled laughter still escaped, and soon they burst out in a unified raucous laugh. Jack rolled his eyes, slumped back to his seat with a sigh. 

"You alright, chief?" Roger, sitting on his right, asked him out of the blue.

"Of course..." he muttered, not looking at him. He kept his eyes locked at the view outside. Safe Haven. The place looked wonderful... but it was empty.

Yet he endured all those years.

He went to school, along with the choir, and some co-patriots he had met on the plane. Together, they survived in the dormitories, cafeteria food, foreigners swooning at their accents, and an education slightly different from their usual curriculum. He adjusted, but didn't enjoy it.

Some boys stayed in Safe Haven until the end of High School. Others flew back to Britain after the war. Simon had left before 9th Grade (and Jack had never seen Roger in such an emotional wreck). Rupert had left the following year, then Henry. As for Roger, he stopped attending classes in the middle of 11th Grade and disappeared completely.

By the time Jack was busy with college applications, nearly everyone he knew was applying for visa. He would definitely miss Maurice's jokes, Harold's fashion tips, and Bill's _favourite_ (note the sarcasm) game, which was how-many-shades-can-you-pull-from-an-asshole. He had already missed Simon and his faints, and hoped that the kid was doing better. Better than him and Roger, at least.

It still shocked him that his best pal was locked up for a 6-year sentence in jail. Whilst Roger was imprisoned in an actual cell, he was locked up in a bigger cage, which was Safe Haven itself. And unlike Roger, he would be locked up for the rest of his life.

 _'Bloody hell,'_ he thought, stomping out of the phone booth in pure frustration. He regretted calling his mother, who broke him the news. His parents were now divorced, his mum would be coming to Safe Haven soon, and he had a new sister. Unfortunately, he wouldn't see her yet, because his mother couldn't afford to take Josie along. But, soon enough, they (the three of them) would start anew in _here_ , instead of _that_ place he so longed for. Instead of _that_  place he always referred as his home. Because _this_ place was never his home; Safe Haven never was. But now, there was no choice. And that gravely peeved him.

Blinded with anger, he continued his way, still stomping, until--

"Oww!"

Two voices cried in unison as their bodies collided. 

Jack rubbed his head, tried to fight off the dizziness that struck him. Slowly regaining balance, slowly opening his eyes... "You!" he spat.

There was a blond boy, down on the pavement, still rubbing his head, muttering about the rough fall. When he looked up, he stared, stunned and speechless. "You..." 

Instinctively, Jack held out both of his hands towards him. The fallen boy tightly grabbed them, and stood up with his aid. 

"Hi," he said, dusting off the back of his pants.

"Hi," Jack awkwardly replied, scratching the back of his head.

"You... you look familiar. Do I know you?"

"Oh, you don't recognise me? We, uh, got here together. On the plane? D-do you... do you remember that?"

"Ah! You're the merry-mountaindew kid! Right?"

Heat blew at his face and ears. Flustered, he politely corrected, "It's Merridew, actually. My name's Jack Merridew."

"Oh, nice to meet you again, Jack Merridew," he chuckled, grabbing his hand and shaking it rather vigorously. "I'm Ralph. And don't even crack that ancient Ralph Lauren joke."

The mere contact of their hands sent an odd feeling in his stomach, he wasn't able to retort anything in reply. He simply stood as his insides did a series of somersaults. 

"Hey, are... are you alright?"

"Oh." He snapped back reality. "I... don't know. I'm staying here for college. Heh. I want to go home. However, there's no home for me in Britain. Not anymore. So am I alright? Maybe yes, maybe no, I have no clue! My feelings are paused right now. They're processing in my head."

Ralph chuckled, flashing a set of pearly whites that looked strangely too beautiful. "I'm staying here for college, too! My granny's here, funding my studies. She's still alive. If it wasn't for her, I could've gone back sooner!"

"Ah, I see," he nodded. "I don't live with any family member yet. I've been under the school's care. But my mum's coming here soon, so I'll be staying here forever, and I hate it."

"Wow. That... sucks."

"Indeed."

Awkward silence flooded in between them. They stood, scratching the back of their heads, sniffling, swaying a bit, basking beneath the sunny afternoon glow.

"Oh, look at the time!" Ralph cried out, looking at his wristwatch. 

"You need to go?"

"Yes, I have a part-time job. You?"

"Nah," he shook his head, making his wild ginger locks shake in a mess. "But I probably should. Because I got a sister who can't go here yet because we're, uh, financially broke as of the moment."

"Oh. Sucks..." he cleared his throat. "Well, good luck, Jack Merridew."

"Same to you, Ralph Lauren," he smiled cockily. He earned a playful punch from the blond and it landed on his cheek. His fist was a warm ball of flesh, he actually liked it.

Ralph turned away, but no less than a split second, Jack called him back. The blond spun around, raising a brow in curiosity. Jack then stuttered, "D-do you... do you want t-to hang out some time?"

There was a pause in which the ginger felt embarrassment suffocate him. But after that, Ralph smiled and said, "Certainly!"

But this "certainly" only became a reality after their second collision, which happened months later.

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

They were able to recognise each other quicker than before.

"Ralph!"

"Jack!"

It surprised them to find out that they had been going to the same school for about a month now. Yet this was their first time to bump into each other in the campus. Needless to say, it was the beginning of a lovely friendship. It consisted of afternoon walks, coffee time, studying in the library, occasionally doing homework together after class, riding their bicycles during the weekends, chilling out during break periods. From awkward Freshmen days, to chitchats about terror profs and grades, to invitations for lunch and dinner. 

When Mrs. Merridew arrived, Jack moved out of the school's care and settled with his mom in a small house. Ralph was often their visitor. And over the years, awkwardness collapsed into affectionate pats, hugs, and platonic pecks on the cheek. However, it was a one-sided platonic act. 

Along the way, some of these habits faltered and broke off, unintentionally. Neither of them took it personally. They knew it was too petty an issue, something not worth to argue about during the next hang-out session.

The years stretched, getting more hectic. Time was the enemy. Yet the pair came to trust each other well enough. Both had grown an attachment and sense of security. Never did they even complained about the fact how little time they had spent with each other compared before. Through they years, they promised and believed that there would always be a next time.

Until Ralph's graduation day.

Before the ceremony even started, Jack knew something was wrong, despite the smile Ralph was giving him. He already sounded redundant with his, "Are you alright?" lines. Ralph never changed his response. "Of course..." was all he said, without looking him straight in the eye.

Concern held him captive. He kept on asking this throughout the whole day. Before the ceremony started, before Ralph joined his fellow batchmates for the march, before the entire event was over, and after it as well. They were already in his car, and he was driving him back home when the question slipped off his mouth for the umpteenth time.

By then, the blond, already fed up, shifted into a more drastic reply and yelled, "Jesus Christ, for the last time, I'm fucking fine, Jack!"

Jack, taken aback, immediately hit the brakes. The Volvo halted by the side of the road. "You know you're not."

"Why are we stopping?" Ralph demanded.

"You know you're not." he repeated.

"Jack," he sighed, exasperated. "I want to go home. I'm tired! Please. Just drive."

So he did. But it wasn't Ralph's home. In twenty minutes, he parked the car in front of a bar in the other side of town, away from the cities they knew. It was a whole new world.

"Where are we?"

"I just want you to know that you're a great friend, and I'm proud of you. So here's my treat."

They got off the car and walked towards the double doors. Jack pushed it open. Loud music and strobe lights greeted them at the slightest crack of the door.

"Do you always go here?" the blond asked, looking reluctantly at the sea of dancing bodies.

Jack shook his head a no. "First time here, too. I wanted to go somewhere we both don't know. Just for fun. Thrilling, yes?"

"Thrilling..." yet he sounded a bit hesitant.

Hand in hand, they pushed themselves through the tight crowd as a number of things assaulted their senses. There was the smell of the place: mix of perfumes, clash of alcohols, shampoos, breaths, sweat. Their vision was attacked by the colourful lights that rhythmically blinked to the beat of the DJ's mix. Music blared from all corners, the air was electrified with it, and the dance floor vibrated with the sound. Soon, they found two empty seats at the bar counter.

"Dos cervezas," Jack called out to the waitress. Not a minute long, she placed two tall glasses of beer in front of them. "Cheers, Commander R.," he raised his glass.

"Cheers," Ralph clinked glasses with him and they gulped down the bittersweet liquid.

"How does it feel?" Jack asked, uncertain of what he ought to say.

"What do you mean? Graduating is just the same as before."

"About not being a student anymore? Does it just feel like summer, or..."

"Ah, I think you meant  _unemployed?"_

Jack gave a hearty laugh at this and Ralph only tsk-tsked. They drank in silence for a long while. More bottles came their way. It surprised him how fast Ralph emptied his shares. And how talkative he suddenly became. His orders piled up, and as it did, he talked faster, hiccuped a lot, laughed harder. When Jack was gulping his 3rd round, he had finished his 8th glass, and was screaming for another round.

"You're quite the drinker..." he commented, taking short sips.

 _"God save the queen and bless me!"_ Ralph sang.

"Are you alri--oh my goodness!" he spat out his drink and gawked at his companion, who looked redder than a tomato. "Damn it, you're drunk!"

"Whoooooo sssaid anything about punk? I don't listen to punk! Baby, you know--" he hiccuped-- "I like bossa... Yeeeeeeehaaaaa... Muuuum loved bossa, so did dad, and they met together--" hiccup, "at some bossa queen's gig, and you know, boom, boom, boom, baby born, it is me, I am the baby, I am a bastard, but they got married affffter, like, what, four monthssss later? Whaaaaat the ever loving fuu--" hicup,"--uuuuuck, I am the shit, their shit, and I miss them, god, take me baaaaaaaack!"

Regret started to bite him at the sight of the blond's behaviour. He looked at his wristwatch. It was already 11 and Ralph was--

"Holy shit!" he cried out as Ralph unceremoniously spilled out a gush of putrid brown liquid from his mouth. People screamed in shock. The waitress bombed the air with a series of Spanish cusses. Then Ralph crashed on the counter, slipped off his seat, slid down and lay in his own filth. He had no idea.

"Ralph!"

No idea at all.

"Ralph, wake up!"

He jolted awake. The car's aircon hit him, cold and stiff. Jack grasped on his shoulders, looking concerned. It took him time to realise that he was in his car. "What happ-- uh, Jack... where's your shirt? And god, what is that awful smell?"

"First of all, you threw up. Second, you passed out. Third, that's  _my_ shirt you're wearing. I'm sorry, I know my body isn't lean, my abs are in poverty, but your shirt... that's what the awful smell is."

"What? You mean--"

"Yes."

"I puked on myself?!" his tone was shrill with disbelief.

"Yes."

"Gross!"

"Yes."

"What a mess am I!"

"Heh. Not really. It's my fault, too. " Jack sighed, looking out through the view in the windshield. "If only I just drove you home, like you told me to. None of this would've happened. If only I didn't steal you into the night I..."

"Thank you."

Jack turned away from the windshield and faced him. Crystal blue eyes locked with baby blue ones. His face burned with inexplicable desire. His stomach fluttered with giddy emotions that he tried to hide so well. "I'd trade the world for your city nights..." he blew the words softly, only the wind heard it.

"Pardon?" Ralph leaned closer to him. Their faces, barely an inch away. This action paralysed Jack. Slow breaths. Warmth. Racing hearts. Desire. Secrets. "Are you alright?" It was his turn to be asked that question now. His sober friend reached for his hand. The contact sent butterflies to his stomach and made his heart beat wilder, wilder and wilder. "I..."

 _'I' like you, Ralph. I like you a lot.'_ he finished the sentence in his head. His voice faltered. He couldn't utter anything. Closing his eyes, he grasped Ralph's hand and took it. He dared to place a kiss on the back of his hand, hoping the message would transmit with just a single touch. 

"Jack..." his voice was gentle, awed, bewildered. "Is this... is this a date?"

Immediately, his eyes fluttered opened. The redhead dropped his hand. He swung open the door, got out and marched to the passenger's side. A confused Ralph stepped out and was lead towards his house's porch. Jack already rang the doorbell before Ralph fished out his keys.  Soon, an old woman opened the door. She smiled widely and hugged Ralph. 

"She's mute, partially deaf," he told Jack as he hugged his grandmother. When he pulled away, he signed to her, but said out loud,  _'Grandmother, this is my friend. His name is Jack. Sorry I came home late. We went out. I got tipsy, and puked. I'm wearing his shirt now. He says he's sorry for his poverty-driven abs.'_

The redhead stood, awestruck and dumbfounded. Uncertain of what to do or say, he mouthed, "Hi" and did a stiff wave towards the old woman. She smiled at him and bowed her head in acknowledgement. She faced her grandson and soon, they engaged in a minute-long silent conversation. Jack tried to comprehend the meaning of their talking fingers, but alas, they were signing too fast. At some point, they paused and glanced at Jack. Then, she turned around and went back inside the house.

"S-she's not mad or anything?" the shirtless man asked nervously.

"No! She was..." then he broke into a short chuckle. "Is this a date, Jack?"

The second ask now sent Jack Merridew running back to his vehicle. 

_Slam! V-v-vroom!_

Only when the Volvo was a dot in the distance did Ralph finally step inside and closed the door. He was about to go upstairs when Granny Adeline barred him at the foot of the steps. _'I'm telling you! He's got the look on you!'_ she signed.

 _'We're just friends,'_ Ralph signed in reply.

_'Maybe for you, but not to him?'_

"No!" he actually shouted. And she knew how to lipread well.

_'Ralph. I know that look in his eyes. It was the way your grandfather looked at me. The way your dad looks at your mum.'_

_'Are you saying I'm gay?'_ he looked exasperatedly peeved at her.

The woman shook her head a no, then signed her last words, _'But_ _Jack is, for you.'_

 _I'm gay for Ralph._ He had that locked up in his head for a long time now. "I'm gay," he mumbled to himself, still concentrating on the road spread out before him in the dark. "I'm gay for Ralph!" he yelled. For the first time. Finally. He admitted it after all these years. And it felt good.

Something awful assaulted his nostrils and when he looked sideways, he saw the paper bag in which he placed Ralph's soiled shirt in.  _Bah, there's always tomorrow!_ And he drove home, thinking and believing that there was always a next time.

A storm brewed up the following morning. The shirt would have to wait. And at last, the day after tomorrow came, all bright and warm, and pancake-scented. His mother was downstairs, cooking. As soon as he gobbled up breakfast, he got behind the wheels and drove to Ralph's place. He half-expected Ralph to open the door for him, but it was no surprise when it was his grandmother who did. She welcomed him inside their cozy little lot and pointed towards the living room. Seated comfortably on the sofa, he waited. 

Adeline slowly reached for the drawers and pulled out something. A pad. Then a pen. She scribbled down something in shaky cursive, then showed it to Jack. 

_'Ralph left. He's back home.'_

Then and there, his whole world shattered. 

"Back so soon, Jack?" his mother asked when he came home. But he was no longer the same Jack he was this morning. He ignored her and went straight to his room.

A heavy soul plagued his system as the days dragged on. Even after his graduation, he couldn't pretend to be happy. He decided to get busy with his job application, thinking that would clear things off. However, mundane mornings welcomed him with a dreary smile. Apathetic afternoons poked his way through a busy day. Soporific sunsets slip away to enigmatic evenings corroded with lonely thoughts. Then, tomorrow would rise, taunting, torturous,  tenacious. It was a cycle, endless and indefatigable.

A month later, on a sunny Saturday, a surprise stood in front of his doorway. The surprise took form of a lovely redhead girl, clad in black garments from head to toe. She smiled brightly at him, then wrapped her arms around Jack. He was paralysed in confusion. When his mother came and saw the girl, she gasped. And he realised that this must be his sister, Josie. 

"Finally," Mrs. Merridew cried, trying to keep her tears at bay, as she hugged her children. Finally, they could start as a family. "Thank god! Oh goodness! We owe your friend so much, Jack."

Before Jack could even ask anything, his sister's voice cut through the air. "Jack, I met your friend in Britain."

"What?"

"He told me to give this to you." Josie handed him a folded yellow paper. The ginger pocketed the note, but never opened it. Not until he was in his room did he remember the note. He pulled it out and slowly unfolded it. 

 _'My dear Jack,_  
 _I strongly do not believe in goodbyes. And I do not want to part from you, or from our beautiful friendship._  
I'll miss you. Worse, I can't stop thinking about you.   
I hope you aren't mad. I did send your sister there in "Safe Haven." But don't thank me, it's the least I could do, for all the favours you've done, for treating me like some priceless jewel when you are a diamond yourself.  
 _Please don't forget me. I never meant to go away._  
Adeline had already planned this from the start. It was meant to be a surprise, so I didn't know until the night of graduation, when you drove me home.  
 _But just so you know, I would trade the world for you city nights, too..._  
 _You're that precious and that valuable to me._

 _With love, Ralph Lauren_  
 _PS. Of course, that's a joke. I hope you smiled. I'll miss your smile._  
 _PPS. I'm sorry I didn't give back your shirt to your sister. I want to give it back personally._ _I'll see you someday, Jack Merridew._

The words sprawled on the yellow sheet became blurred lines as tears began to cloud his vision. They streamed hotly down his freckled cheeks. He fell on his knees. Anguish gnawed his aching heart. "I... was... ready..." he choked out the words. "...to trade the world for your city nights. Looks like I can't anymore."  _Thud!_ His body crashed on the floorboards and he cried himself to sleep. 

Every night, he would read that small note, devour the sight of Ralph's handwriting. The heart-wrenching feeling numbed his senses. After months of reciting the letter like a declamation speech, he had it memorized by heart. Still, he religiously read it before sleeping, said it like a chant with closed eyes and a yearning heart.

Years slipped by in a blink, but his heart's desire never changed. His habitual nighttime reading didn't cease. And as if fate read his heart's content, it decided to cook up a new surprise. Another surprise that came knocking on the Merridews' door after dinner, fast forward to six years after Josie's arrival. 

Jack, all grown up with an angular face and wavy ginger locks, strode to the door and swung it wide open. A familiar stranger stood before him. His eyes grew as round as the moon. His heart skipped a beat. "You," he breathed out, completely astonished. "Oh, Ralph..." his voice cracked as tears began to glint in his eyes. 

Ralph leaned closer to him, reached for his face, and ran a hand towards his eyelids. Closing them, a tear rolled down, and he felt the blond wipe it away with his thumb. "Jack, there's something I have to ask..." his voice was tender. "Could I trade a kiss for your city nights?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a very long fic. I... can't... even. 
> 
> I'm truly sorry for the sucky transition of the paragraphs, the abrupt pacing, and the long dialogues. Sorry not sorry for the unnecessary comedy in some parts. ~~Walt, go home, you're not funny, you can't be.~~
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who helped me push through this block. You are all so very kind to this idiot. *throws hugs*
> 
> Also, thank you to Snow, for letting me use her OC (Josie) in here. Sadly, she's not as active as she used to be in the lotf fandom in Tumblr (and she doesn't really ship anything, too, haha). Buena suerte, amiga.


	4. Alimpungatan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new house. A new atmosphere. Yet they couldn't share a room? Nope. The twins beg to differ.
> 
> (Type of kiss: butterfly kiss)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clear things, I used some fandom headcanons:  
> 1\. The twins are half-Korean. (courtesy of Tumblr user samandericscupcakestand)  
> 2\. Sam has a lisp. (courtesy of Tumblr user shucks-busters) But, I will replace ever 's' with 'sh' instead of 'th,' so take note, folks!  
> 

**Alimpungatan**  
(Lord of the Flies: Samneric)

Five knocks jolted Sam. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the digital clock on his bedroom wall. Red numbers flashed 12:03.  _Oh, happy birthday..._

Five more knocks, sharper and faster, rapped on his door. Then a whisper. It called him. Sam swung his legs off his bed and walked barefoot towards the door. A little creak and the orange light from outside had seeped in.

"Sam, I can't--"

"I can't shleep either."

He opened his doors to his brother, Eric. His twin, younger by three minutes, came inside, dragging a long pillow. "I'm scared," he said, after a long yawn.

"Why?"

"What if--" He crashed on Sam's bed. "The guns..."

Sam closed his door and jumped on to his bed. It was pretty small for the both of them. Yet for fourteen years, they had shared a room and a bed with each other. It was rather comfortable for them to have each other in one room again, despite the little space.

Tonight was their first night without sharing. Their new house had an extra room; their mum decided that it was time for a little independence from each other.

"Ish that why you came here?"

Eric nodded and curled up like a cat at the foot of the bed. "Don't tell Mum."

"Why would I?"

"Because you know what she said. About--"

"No more sharing roomsh, I know. But she alsho shaid shomethin' about--"

"That we're safe now?"

Sam nodded at that. He fluffed his pillow and leaned it against the header. He rested his head there, pulled his knees close to his chest, and stared outside the window. Grey clouds scattered on the dark sky.

"Hmph. Just because we got a bigger house... You think they made the guns stop now?"

The older twin shrugged and fixed the blankets. "You comfy?"

"Yes. Thanks. And you?"

"Even better with you here." he giggled.

"You're still-" Eric yawned again. "...still avoiding--"

"Yesh, yesh, shorry..."

"What happened?"

"I..."

"I want the truth, Sam."

He sighed and whispered, "I honeshtly don't know, Eric..."

Just this morning, before daylight broke into a vivid dawn, they were abruptly awoken by the sound of gunshots. Again. They often heard it, and they were used to it. Five months had passed. Yet, a string of fear still lingered. 

Then Dad barged in their room.  _Pack what you need. Get inside the car. Quick! Use the backdoor. Be quiet. No questions._

Soon, they were on a bumpy road. Dark trees lined on each side. A canopy casting big shadows in the yawning sun. Mum and Dad spoke with low voices, in hushed Korean. The twins have never heard them talk that softly, so tender, they were lulled back to sleep, knocked out for the entire road trip.

They jolted awake, together, when the car came to a stop. Looking outside the car, a house stood proud among the towering acacias. It looked new. And bigger, too. It had a bright yellow face, wide white windows, and a pointed black top for the roof.

Sam yawned.  _Are we going back ho--?_

 _No, this is home now._ Dad was stern. Mum quietly nodded.

 _Oh._ The twins looked at each other.  _Not another house again._

The porch creaked upon the family's intrusion. Keys jiggled. The door creaked open. A furnished house with pale green walls. Kitchen to the right, living room on the left. A hallway in front of them. The twins looked around, touched the smooth walls as they walked and was greeted by a winding staircase up. 

"D-do you want to..."

"'Course I do! Race you to the top!"

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump!

 _Boys!_ Mum cried out. 

"We're upstairs!" they cried out in unison.

_Are you picking your rooms now?_

"Aren't we sharing--?"

_No._

"Oh no."

"But we've alwaysh shared roo--"

_No._

"Well why--"

_No._

Defeated, Sam picked the red door, farthest from the stairs. Eric chose the blue one next to it. Their parents had a white door, and the green door opened to a spacious bathroom, complete with a shower tub and counter and a sink. 

That dinner, they all ate their meal in silence. And before rushing upstairs, their Mum reminded them that they were almost fifteen tomorrow. That they needed to start acting like young men. Not boys. Definitely not kids. 

Pouting, they stormed up the winding steps and took a shower together. Before they went in their respective rooms, they hugged each other. Sam managed to send a butterfly kiss, rapidly fluttering his eyelashes against Eric's. Then they disappeared to their rooms as early as eight in the evening. 

Yet both of them tossed and turned, tried to count sheep, tried to count the stars outside their windows, tried to count the gunshots they would've heard if they were back at their place. But the silence was too thick, it couldn't lull them to sleep. Eric, who used to curl up next to Sam and rest his head on his chest, knew he would have to hear his brother's heartbeat. It was the best lullaby. 

Thus, after hearing the door lock on his parent's bedroom, he sneaked out and knocked on the red door. 

"Do you think we're safe now?"

"Shh, shh, lishten..."

But they only heard silence. Even the air conditioning unit seemed mute. Just the sound of their breaths, that were as quiet as the night.

"What?"

"Exashactly."

"You don't make sens--"

"The guns have stopped."

"You think so?"

He wanted to say yes. And wanted to believe in it. But he couldn't lie. Yet he didn't want to crush his brother's hope. He didn't want to admit to himself either. "Maybe. For now."

"Why do people even shoot and kill each other, Sam?"

"I don't know... But, hey, it could be worsh."

"Like what?"

"Bombsh. You know. From helicoptersh, or planesh. They drop them and boom! Everyone diesh."

"God, that sounds awful." he clutched to his pillow. "Hope I don't get nightmares..."

"Well, good night, Eric. Happy birthday."

"Hang on," he crawled to him. Then, without warning, rested his head atop of Sam's chest. "Good night, Sam. Happy birthday, too."

But Sam reached for his face, sat up a bit, and leaned close to him. So close, he could smell the minty fresh toothpaste on his lips. Then he fluttered his lashes, gently making contact against his brother's own long lashes. Eric smiled and blushed a little, but began to flutter his lashes against him as well. 

Sam released him and rested his head on the pillow against the header and closed his eyes.

"I hope we don't hear those bombs," Eric whispered, lying down on Sam's soft chest. "I prefer the guns."

"Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alimpungatan. Noun. Origin: Filipino.  
> Definition: (1.) Restless sleep  
> (2.) Rude awakening  
> (3.) That feeling when you were suddenly woken up by something/ anything, and you are left in that half-dreaming and half-awake realm. 
> 
> I haven't been writing in English for quite a looooooong time, but I proofread this more than twice so I hope this is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> (I'm so sorry that I didn't include other characters like Phil, Stanley, and Wilbur (also Rupert from the 1963 film), because I based all of these characters from the fandom in Tumblr. However, I will use them/ mention them in some chapters.)
> 
> This is little sunny Walter, and you're reading a crazy ultimate lotf ship fic. Hope you stay tuned for more and stick with me til the end.


End file.
